


Venerate

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, mostly silly Johnlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 22:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5107898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>venerate: verb, ven-uh-reyt; to regard with reverence; to revere<br/>from the Latin veneror, venerari, to honor as a deity</p>
            </blockquote>





	Venerate

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Venerate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5714545) by [Lydia_Bennet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_Bennet/pseuds/Lydia_Bennet)



John Watson was very aware of his partner's, for lack of a better word, beauty. He wasn't handsome in a classical way, but in a certain light, at a particular angle, he was beautiful. There were moments at crime scenes when he had to remind himself to breathe while he watched Sherlock work. 

During long, drawn out cases, when Sherlock was knee deep in his Mind Palace, all he could do was watch and attempt to get the occasional cup of tea or piece of toast into him and wait patiently until the case was completed. After the paperwork was done, after the cab ride back to Baker Street, Sherlock wasted no time in taking care of his blogger, usually somewhere between the door and the couch, rarely did they make it to the bedroom.

Some people venerate gods, football teams, or certain whiskeys. John Watson revered the lanky detective's fingers. The very first time they touched, yes, when John loaned him his phone, that very first time, he noticed them. And he wondered what those fingers could do. Shortly after saving the git's life for the first time, he found out. After the last fortune cookie was eaten, they slowly made their way back to the flat. 

"John..." he began as he hung up his coat.  
"Yes?"  
"I may have made a miscalculation this evening."  
"Oh?"  
"I may have indicated that I, uhm, was not interested in you in an intimate way..."  
"Uh-huh...and?"  
"...I would like to correct any misunderstanding..." He walked over to John and removed his jumper, slid his fingers under his t-shirt, lifting it above his head and using his fingers, gently caressed the scar that no one besides medical staff had ever seen.  
"Sher-"  
"Please? May I?"  
John's brain could only summon a nod as Sherlock led him to his room, divested his soon-to-be-blogger/lover/partner of the rest of his clothing and introduced him to Egyptian cotton sheets. John couldn't even.  
Sherlock was fully clothed as he paused to remove his socks and shoes, then turned and straddled the man who watched him in astonishment. The eyes were flashing, almost neon with the moonlight peeking in the window, the raven curls were begging to be tugged, but all John saw were the fingers that were playing with his nipples.  
"Dammmmmn-where, how, ohgoddddd..."  
"For a case, John."  
"So, you've never-"  
"Nope."  
"Carry on."

Those fingers that detected and played and twitched with annoyance at times took John Watson apart bit by bit, until he was moaning his name like a mantra. When he opened his eyes, the detective was still dressed, curled up against him, and tracing his scar again, in wonder. 

"Will you tell me, how it happened?" He whispered.  
John nodded and began the story of how the scars came to be. Sherlock never interrupted, just drew new maps on the damaged shoulder with the fingers that brought John Watson back to life.


End file.
